She wants to get away.
Tis why she hides her nose in books of far off places.
She does not like herself.
In me I see traces of her.
This is only natural,
she is the one I looked to...
then swore to never be like.
I am not her.
I am me.
Yet, I want to run, too.
Sand between my toes and the long yellow line behind me.
But, anywhere I go the past will find me.  
And, so I face it.  
And, learn to like me.  
Because in my own daughters I see traces of me.